You're Pregnant, Harry
by StrictlySomething
Summary: Harry's scar gave off a sudden twinge of pain and he knew without a doubt that somehow, somewhere, Voldemort was laughing his ass off. CRACK.


**Unfortunate Moments of Utter Ridiculousness**

**Disclaimer: Stop looking at me! I don't own Harry Potter! **

**Part One: "Harry, you're Pregnant": **

Harry stepped up into the Headmaster's office with some trepidation. Professor McGonagall had told him during Transfiguration that Dumbledore wanted to see him immediately after class about something incredibly urgent. And while normally he would have been relieved that Dumbledore finally wanted to speak with him after such a long semester of silence, he'd never known the Headmaster (or rather Professor McGonagall as she passed along the message) to sound so concerned. As such he felt he'd rather sink into a hole in the ground.

As it was, he arrived sharply, albeit hesitantly, right after Transfiguration let out and found that Dumbledore was surprisingly absent from the flamboyant office. And so, with great reluctance, he sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs as his head reeled with the possible reasons for the meeting.

_Had Dumbledore found out about his falling out with Snape over the Occlumency lessons?_

_Had Voldemort made his move?_

_Had Sirius chosen to have a go at freedom and been caught by the Ministry?_

_Did something happen to the Dursleys?_

All valid options in Harry's opinions, and none of them comforting in the slightest.

He paused for a moment. Actually his concern about the Dursleys while valid, wasn't _that _troubling. They had deprived him of any emotional comfort as a child for one. And they did have the tendency to treat his head like a punching bag (Vernon and Dudley anyway. Petunia was fine with yelling shrilly). And starve him constantly. And lock him in a cupboard for eleven years. And send Aunt Marge's bulldog after him whenever they got bored.

Yeah. Never mind, the Dursleys could go to hell for all he cared.

But aside from that, the others were very important concerns. Ever since the Triwizard Tournament Voldemort had been acting underground, and it was only a matter of time before he struck. Sirius had the bad habit of sneaking out of his house and could've easily been spotted. And Snape, well, that _fiasco _with Snape had happened just last night and he supposed Dumbledore could righteously feel disappointed.

He nervously tapped the side of the armchair. Finally, the door opened again behind him. Peering around his shoulder he saw the professor walking in slowly, looking nowhere near his normal level of cheerfulness.

Dread sunk into his very bones. Something was very _very_ wrong.

"Harry, my child, how are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked morosely, not even attempting to lighten the atmosphere, sounding more as if he were talking to Harry on his deathbed rather than the overstuffed cushion he had anxiously perched.

He managed a dry swallow before replying, "Fine, sir."

Professor Dumbledore walked around to his desk and sat down, before steepling his fingers and staring at Harry gravely. He found the courage to speak, "What's the matter, Professor? Is it Voldemort? Did Sirius get caught? Or if this is about Sn—"

"This is about none of those things, my boy."

He let out a silent sigh of relief, before asking somewhat hopefully, "And the Dursleys?"

"Fine."

_Well, damn._

Dumbledore's stare was making him uneasy.

"I'm afraid I have some terrible news, Harry."

Yeah, he had that feeling.

"Harry, you're pregnant."

Silence, and then, "I'm sorry, Professor, I think I misheard you," Harry said blankly, blaming the Headmaster's words on faulty hearing.

"You're pregnant, Harry."

A snort escaped his mouth despite his best attempts to rein it in. But the Headmaster was still staring at him sadly, making the situation a little less funny. He chuckled uneasily, "Um, Professor, you do know I'm a guy right? I can't really get pregnant."

Dumbledore sighed, "You're in denial. I understand. You are very young, one of the reasons I felt I should tell you about this myself."

He gaped, "What? I'm not in denial, Professor. Guys don't get pregnant," he said firmly, wondering if the Headmaster had finally went around the bend.

Said Headmaster shook his head sadly, "I know this is hard to accept—"

"This isn't hard to accept, Professor!" Harry exclaimed. "Men. Can't. Get. Pregnant! I mean, it's anatomically impossible. Not to mention I haven't even—" he cut of abruptly.

No, he wasn't talking about his _sex life, _or lack thereof, with his Headmaster (who was still looking at him in a sadly sympathetic light). He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something obviously wrong here. Dumbledore was obviously serious as well as obviously _insane._

The question was what should he do about it? Should he go directly to McGonagall with this, or try to handle it himself? It'd be a problem if too many people found out Dumbledore was throwing out crackpot theories. What, with his reputation already in the toilet due to the Ministry and Daily Prophet, this little proclamation would have the old man deemed completely insane. He'd be forced to step down as Headmaster and as Head of the Order of the Phoenix, and hell, Harry would get to deal with Voldemort all on his own.

No, he'd try one more direct route here. If that didn't work, he'd go to McGonagall. They'd work this out. Dumbledore was obviously just feeling a little confused. They could fix this.

"Professor," he started slowly, "for me to be pregnant, well, there'd have to be," he gestured awkwardly with his hands, "another person involved."

"Yes, I am aware of that my dear boy," Professor Dumbledore said gently, as if he were talking to a five year old, "and do not be embarrassed, I already know who the father is."

"Then you understand its impos— wait what?" Harry asked sharply.

"I've arranged a meeting with him as well, Harry. Don't worry, I won't let you suffer telling him alone. I intend to make him fully aware of his responsibilities."

He paled dramatically. Dumbledore was going to tell someone else about this episode?

"Responsibilities?" he asked faintly, mind still reeling.

"Yes, yes. I imagine he'll be shocked at first, but he'll come around eventually. After all, this child is a creation between the two of you."

His scar gave a twinge of pain, and he somehow knew that somewhere in someplace Voldemort was most likely laughing his ass off.

_Dear Merlin. _

What the hell had he done in his past life? Who'd he piss off?

His parents were dead. His relatives, abusive. A madman (several hundred madmen and one madwoman actually, if you counted the one's followers) was after him. He'd had to deal with his life being threatened yearly since he was eleven. And now… _this._ His Headmaster had officially lost it and had chosen to direct his insane tendencies in _his_ direction.

It was of little comfort that someone else out there would be forced to sit through the same outlandish claims, actually, mildly mortifying. No one else should have to know that this ever happened.

"Who is he?" Harry demanded suddenly.

Dumbledore looked at him, still oppressively morose. "Harry, you know who it is," he said in a scolding tone.

If he suggested Ron, things would probably get violent.

_Knock. Knock._

"Ah," Dumbledore said gently, "here he is now."

_Crap. _

Dumbledore had meant he had called him now? Harry was nowhere near prepared for this. He needed time, he needed. . . help. This would most likely be one of the most awkward confrontations of his entire life.

"Come in," Dumbledore called out clearly, while keeping a still worried eye on Harry.

_Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap crap._

The door opened slowly, a voice cutting across them both, "Sorry I'm late, Headmaster. I only just received your owl."

And a tall gangly man walked in.

"Marcus Flint?"

Marcus Flint had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at his horror.

"But, but he graduated! Two years ago! And he's Marcus _bloody _Flint!"

"Language, Harry. I understand this is a stressful situation, but there is no need to take out your frustrations on your lover."

There was a moment of silence at that pronouncement, where Harry lost all hope and Marcus Flint let the words wash over him, blinking in confusion. Even Flint hesitated when staring into Dumbledore's sadly confident gaze, "Did you just say _lover_?"

Flint glanced back at Harry, who just shrugged miserably before burying his head in his arms. They were doomed. They were all _doomed_.

"Headmaster, I'm married," Flint continued, still confused and not really sure where the conversation was heading.

Harry perked up, although part of his mind reeled that _Marcus Flint_ had managed to hook a girl. Dumbledore wouldn't be able to keep this up if there was denial from both parties.

The headmaster only continued wearily, "Yes. I'm aware of that. I was surprised myself when you chose to have an affair. I had thought your marriage would last. But I suppose even an old man is wrong sometimes."

Marcus let his mouth drop open in surprise, too surprised to even be angry at Dumbledore's suggestion.

"Affair?" he asked and then froze, glancing from Dumbledore, back to a horrified Harry, and then back to Dumbledore. Any color that he had on his face drained quickly.

"Yes," Dumbledore continued, "and I'm afraid to say that our young Harry is pregnant, and with your child, Mr. Flint."

"_Pregnant_,"Flint mouthed incredulously, looking back to Harry once again, still not moving past the parroting stage.

Harry shrugged at him miserably, trying to convey all of his own frustration at the situation in one quick motion.

"Headmaster, I'm afraid this simply isn't possible," Flint tried again, finally in control of his words.

"I've been on honeymoon in Majorca for over six months. My wife can validate my alibi. I have nothing to do with Potter's … _condition._"

"Condition?" Harry finally interceded, "There is no bloody condition! I'm not PREGNANT!"

His outburst caused a flutter of movement within all of the portraits of the room. Most, rather hard of hearing in their old age, would later swear to the fact that Harry Potter had raged in a teenage angst to being pregnant. It with the rumor-mongering of portraits having risen to such a high point in the recent years (I mean really, what more did they have to do?), the entire castle would be aware of the entire incident before Harry could even leave the office.

"Harry," Dumbledore began sternly.

"No! I'm not going to sit here and let you keep doing this! I want to speak to Professor McGonagall!"

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, until Marcus Flint interrupted with his own, "And I'd feel more comfortable if Professor Snape was present for this as well."

Dumbledore observed them both for a few moments before sighing, "Very well." He got up and made his way to the fireplace where he proceeded to call both of the Heads of House. A few moments later and irate Snape and reserved McGonagall entered the room.

And so it began again.

A few minutes later had Professor McGonagall attempting to summarize the situation, "Let me get this straight, Mr. Potter and Mr. Flint have been having a quiet affair for the last four months, Mr. Flint having hired a man to play his doppelganger in Majorca, and Harry having snuck out to Hogsmeade on the weekends, and in that time Mr. Potter has managed to become pregnant and is now carrying their love child."

Marcus Flint had long since joined Harry in sitting down and burying his face into his hands in horror and shame.

McGonagall's expression was surprisingly devoid of any emotion, whereas Snape didn't bother to hide his snort of contempt and his own input, "And this is ignoring the facts that neither has made any inclination that they share _feelings,_" he said the word as if it were a disease, "for each other or that they are even interested in men at all?"

Harry never thought he could love the Professor more (or at all, for that matter) and looked up with hope.

"Albus," McGonagall began carefully, "where did you come across this information?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, looking even more serious than before, "In a prophecy."

A prophecy. Well, that explained it.

"By Trelawney, I presume," McGonagall asked dryly, although Harry only got a part of the joke.

"Yes."

Snape sighed, "And did this prophecy mention both Potter and Marcus' names specifically, or was that part an educated guess?"

The headmaster turned to the Potions Master, "They were the two likeliest candidates."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, and McGonagall proceeded to give Harry a sympathetic smile.

"Very well," Snape said calmly.

"What!" both Harry and Flint stood abruptly.

Snape glared at them and continued, "Very well, Albus. If it is as you say, we should use a pregnancy potion to confirm the matter."

And Harry and Flint sunk back into their seats thankfully, Harry contributing, "Yes, let's do that!"

Dumbledore nodded, "An excellent idea, Severus. We will wait for you to go grab one."

Snape cleared his throat and reached into his robes, "I'm actually carrying one with me that should suffice," pulling out a small blue bottle and a piece of paper.

An awkward silence.

"Right," Harry said getting up and stepping forward, "Do I just need to drink it?"

"Yes, you drink it and the results will be provided on this piece of paper in around ten minutes. Two pink lines means you are pregnant, one blue line means you aren't. Three blue lines means the answer is still unknown, and the green line. . .Well, let's just hope you don't get that one."

Harry snatched the potion, pulled out the cork, and downed it in one swig. Then he took the piece of paper Snape offered and sat down in the corner impatiently.

Then there was a very dramatic waiting period of ten minutes.

The paper in front of Harry binged to let everyone know the results were finally in. Harry's face was one of complete serenity as he glanced down. His face froze, and his shoulders tensed as the pressure in the room seemed to grow. Then he suddenly held it up to everyone revealing it to be blank, his eyes turning questionably to Snape.

Snape coughed, "Yes, well pregnancy tests are never exact. There's always about a 3% chance that it won't react at all."

He reached into his robes, pulling out another bottle. Harry, growing frustrated, guzzled it down once more and another moment of silence passed. When the paper binged, he kept his face passive once more as he glanced down.

_One blue line._

Relief flooded him, and he honestly felt a little ridiculous for getting so caught up in the moment. Of course he wasn't pregnant! Still, he couldn't help but slam the paper down triumphantly on Dumbledore's desk.

"There!"

Dumbledore stared at it for a moment before clearing his throat, "Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears there's been a slight misunderstanding. I suppose you're all free to go. I ask that you understand the severity of this situation and not speak of this prophecy with anyone else."

Harry rushed out of the room quickly, planning on pushing this as far into the back of his mind as possible. He glanced back one more time to see an unimpressed Snape making his way to the fire place. McGonagall was pursing her lips, most likely planning on giving the Headmaster a severe talk.

Flint had stood up, looking in Harry's direction. They made eye contact briefly, a clash of muddy brown and emerald green, sharing a connection only shared mortification and horror could create. Harry couldn't help but feel that maybe Marcus Flint wasn't as bad as he'd thought.

And then Flint grinned and gave him a saucy wink.

He turned and ran, never looking back.

* * *

><p>Once the office had emptied out of everyone except for Dumbledore and McGonagall, the Headmaster leaned back heavily, frowning. Trelawney's prophecy had been clear enough, more so than her other two.<p>

_One Slytherin, already bound to another _

_One Gryffindor, caught in the webs of destiny _

_Holding a secret tryst,_

_There soon after causing a child to be born,_

_Under the full harvest moon._

_And from those webs rising,_

_To end the world as we know it. _

The Slytherin, he'd assumed was married (as was Flint) and Harry was obviously bound by destiny due to another prophecy. The harvest moon was held in October, three months ago. The child was Harry's due to the mention of the web.

And the rest, well, hopefully with the child properly raised, perhaps in a hate-filled muggle environment, they could avoid any truly horrible futures.

But he'd made a mistake somewhere, a miscalculation. Of course he had oversimplified the situation dramatically, and then jumped to brash conclusions, but he'd always supposed his first hunch would be right. Perhaps he had earned a _talk_ concerning the "well-being of students" and his "public image" with McGonagall after all.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy rushed into a darkened abandoned classroom quickly.<p>

"Lumos," he muttered and shielded his eyes as light flooded the room.

Another figure was already waiting for him, although the light from the spell didn't quite reach there face. He began his apology, "I'm sorry I'm late. Father wrote to me again."

"What did he say?" a voice asked in a worried tone.

"He wants me to pick up correspondence with my betrothed, a witch promised to me when I was born. I'm afraid we're to be married right after school," he said bitterly.

A sharp intake of breath was heard.

"Draco," the voice began falteringly, "what, what are we going to do?"

He stepped forward, "We'll keep this secret. My marriage isn't going to stop anything," he whispered comfortingly wrapping a hand around the other's waist.

"That's not all," the voice continued, "I think I'm going to have to leave soon. He's going to go after You-Know-Who soon and I'm going to have to follow."

Draco took a step back, feeling a wave of hurt and betrayal cut across him, "Why? Why would you go with him?"

The figure sighed, "I've been with him since the beginning, it's like I'm caught in this web of destiny that I can't get out of. I _have _to help him, Draco."

He didn't like it, but he understood. It was just that, well, "We have to look after more than ourselves now," he reminded.

The figure stiffened, placing a hand on their growing belly, "I know. I know. We'll figure something out by the time Draco junior comes along."

They held each other for a moment, and then Draco leaned back so that he could look directly into the other's chocolate brown eyes, "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," the other said breathily.

"When this is all over; this war, everything. When it's over, you'll come back to me _Ronald Bilius Weasley_."

His dear Ronniekins gave a heartfelt nod and they kept romantic eye contact for a few brief moments where more than a few pieces of their deepest thoughts and emotions were shared without words.

After that, they proceeded to snog themselves senseless, only stopping when they were stumbled upon by one very confused first year Hufflepuff (who unfortunately was never seen or heard from again).

**Author's Note: **

**Well. . . I'm can't really explain myself. I figured I needed to work on my humor, I got this. . . which incidentally was inspired by some of the weirder summaries I've seen online. Anyways, I'm thinking I'll keep this fic open as a compilation of any other oneshots I might write looking at the funny side of HP fanfiction.**

**If YOU have come across a truly terrible Mary Sue, plotline, or other such ridiculousness please let me know. Who knows, YOUR idea could be the next chapter. **

**And thanks for reading,**

**StrictlySomething**


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